


Rhythm & Blues Goes a Long Way

by Benevolent_Atlas31



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Booze, Artist Steve Rogers, BAMF Raven, But With Heartbreak, Calm Down Erik, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles You Slut, Charles You Will Be Drunk, Charles is a Tease, Emma is Asexual, Endless Flirting, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is a Sweetheart, F/F, F/M, Hank is Aromantic, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Honestly guys, M/M, Nerd Charles, Other, Parent Tony Stark, Protective Erik, Sassy Charles, Sassy Raven, Sassy Tony, Sharon Dies, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony is a mess, mentions of child abuse, pretty much fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3417905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benevolent_Atlas31/pseuds/Benevolent_Atlas31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Xavier is an optimistic, charmingly awkward, genius with a bleeding heart and a little secret that keeps him a few feet ahead of everyone else.</p><p>Erik Lensherr is a cold, cynical, realist who's got his walls so high it's hard for him to see over them. He's got his secrets too, but it only makes his contempt for the world grow, if anything. </p><p>When both of Charles's parents die, he's shipped to live in the states with his billionaire, godfather Tony Stark, and somehow, it's not done getting worse.</p><p>Or, a powered AU where they all live together and somebody's always fighting or falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Try a Little Tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, she may be weary
> 
> \- Try a Little Tenderness - Otis Redding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Tony's first mistake was not going to the funeral.

Maybe Tony's first mistake was not going to the funeral.

"Is that him?"

A pause. "No, Tony, he's smaller than that."

There was the whole 'I haven't seen you in eight years and I have no idea what you look like now so I had to bring someone with me to help me find you at JFK' thing that was in competition with it, but it was mainly that he wasn't there to, metaphorically, hold his godson's hand after his parents just _died_.

Tony tapped his foot against the linoleum impatiently, rising halfway to look at the random, tired-looking people pour out of the exit. "This _is_ his flight, right? I mean, we didn't miss it, did we?"

Because that would be just _perfect_ ; would top the fucking cake. _Oh. Hey, Charlie. Sorry I forgot you at the airport. How was the funeral? Do you still like race cars?_

If the kid wasn't already in therapy after having Sharon Xavier as a mother, he knew this would be the breaking point.

Pepper spared him a glance away from her laptop. "Will you calm down? We haven't missed him. He'll be one of the last people to get off. That's what happened when you have an escort to watch you across the continents."

He deserved that. He and Pepper hadn't necessarily been on 'good terms' starting about two days ago. Well, more like Pepper was too disappointed in him to even speak on unofficial terms and Tony was walking around with his tail between his legs.

Still, Pepper may have been small, but she was fierce and quite scary when she had a point. He could call her a 'Debbie Downer' or whatever he wanted to, but even he had to admit that it was kind of low that he hadn't even _called_ when he got to news.

She slammed her laptop closed. "Do you have to wear your sunglasses _inside_?"

"They're Ray Bans." Tony said defensively, touching the edge of one of the lenses.

"They're ridiculous," she paused, squinting. " _There_ he is!" she breathed, stuffing away her computer and gathering her bag.

Tony ripped the glasses from his face, stuffed them in his pocket, smoothed his shirt, and prayed to whatever god was listening that he wouldn't screw this up. Last time he'd talked to Charles, he was over the moon that Tony work with cars and robots and was easily entertained with the concept of transistors. Now, he was . . . Well, Tony didn't exactly know who he was, but he knew what it was like to bury your parents young, so he knew this wouldn't be pleasant.

Charles walked out with a tall, brunette in front of him, guiding him. He looked rumpled, red-eyed, and simply exhausted as he trailed behind the woman. Tony remembers learning her name, but it wasn't coming to mind now - Tony was too focused on Charles.

He gave him a once-over. "He looks like jailbait." he whispered to Pepper, eyeing Charles over and over again, head to toe.

Pepper elbowed him in the stomach. "Be _nice_." she sighed. "Poor thing looks simply exhausted."

She took off before he could snap at her. Of course he looks exhausted. Probably feels like it too. _Sticking your parents in the ground ain't a bed of roses._ He shouted at her, but the only response he got was an echo in his head, reminding him that you don't say things like that to people who watch you as well as she does.

Tony walked forward. Pepper was rushing, so not only was he behind but part of his vision was blocked off. He watched what he could from a few feet away as she began to enter Charles's space. "Hello Charles," she was smiling, he could hear it. "I'm so glad to meet you." She held out her hand. "My name is Pepper Potts. I'm your-" she looked behind her and 'discreetly' motioned for Tony to join her. " _Godfather's_ -"

"Personal Assistant." Tony clarified, stepping in. Pepper was obviously shocked to see him by her side so quickly, as she straightened up when Tony put a hand at the small of her back. "Well, formally, anyways." he continued. "She cleans up my messes and never reports me to HR." Tony was surprised his answers were semi-coherent as he drunk in the sight of Charles.

Up close, all Tony could think was: _Brian, Brian, Brian._ Charles had freckles littered across his face, just like his father had had when he actually decided to _shave_. He looked pale now, like Brian used to when he'd hole himself up in his study all day, and bags and purple bruises under his eyes. His lips were cherry-red, still, but they looked to be chapped and cracking. Hair was defying gravity, rolling around on the top of his head like chestnut waves, and it almost made Tony smile . . . or frown.

 _Just like his father,_ he thought. _Great._

Someone cleared their throat and it was like a switch had been flicked on in Tony's mind. "Don't suppose you remember me then."

But what now? Hold his hand out like this is a business transaction? Introduce himself like they're strangers who couldn't care less? Go in for a hug like the last eight years of empty voicemails, Christmas cards, and censured 'thank you's had never happened? Like everything was fine?

Just as he was about to speak, the stewardess - _Bonnie? Bobbie?_ \- stepped forward with a Crest-white smile. "Hi, Mr. Stark, I'm Becca." she held her hand out, but after a moment of Tony staring at it blankly, Pepper took with an apologetic.

'Becca' seemed to be confused, but she recovered quickly. "Charles was an absolute _doll_ , on the flight!" she smiled wider, more genuine this time. "I couldn't ask for anything better," she leaned into Pepper. "He was very quiet, though. And I think . . ." she trailed off, and Tony was straining to hear her. "I think he's sick or something. He looked like he was in a lot of pain on the plane, but he wouldn't take anything for it. Said it wouldn't help."

Pepper just smiled, backed away from Becca, and grabbed the handle to Charles's bag. "Well thank you so much for keeping an eye on him, Becca. We really appreciate it."

Tony forced a smile and made a sound of agreement. Right now, he was only all too aware of Charles staring at him while he thought Tony wasn't looking. He wished they were closer. Tony longed to pull Charles close and ruffle his hair and offer him a limitless bedtime or candy for dinner, but even he knew it wasn't that simple. Charles wasn't just a little kid easily distractible anymore.

This was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

 

/

 

" . . . And if you don't want to go to the school, that's fine." Tony explained from the driver's seat. Though Happy was one of his closest friends, he had figured the less people as possible would be best, and if he were to be honest, he would have fallen apart without Pepper there. "I could understand if you wanted to go to a more . . . _elite_ school in the city. Brian mentioned you were into the Arts."

There was a slight pause. "I like to read," Charles admitted quietly, and when Tony sneaked a glance in the rearview mirror, he had his hands in his lap clenched tightly together and his head pressed hard against the window. "Not into much else, really. Chess a little."

Charles seemed to be in pain.

This wasn't good at all.

"Are you alright, buddy?" Tony asked, taking a sharp right.

Since the airport, Tony had discovered that the only way to alleviate his nerves was through speaking. He had since called Charles "buddy" in a soft, obviously retrained voice. Charles was at that age, he had decided, of which you had to be careful what you called him. His full name "Charles" was a mouthful, and "Charlie" seemed like something Tony had to own. He wasn't about to call him "son" like he held some superiority over Charles (because if he were being honest, if he didn't have JARVIS set alarms on his mobile devices and watch, he would forget to eat half the time) and he wouldn't call him "kid" like he knew anything about anything.

Charles was _quiet_ , and that made it ten times worse. 

Nothing was said, but he could see Charles nod.

"Are you sure, Sweetie? I've got some Aspirin in my purse." Pepper offered, already beginning to dig through her bag for the pill bottle.

Since the airport, Pepper has deemed it appropriate to call Charles "Sweetie", like he's some wounded animal or lost five year old in the grocery store. True, she calls most people underage "Sweetie", but Tony didn't know if it was bothering Charles or not and he really just wanted his godson to feel comfortable and as happy he could. At any rate, Charles wasn't one of those loud kids who were determined to leave a negative, blunt mark on the world, so that was about the first positive he could see out of the whole ordeal.

"Yes, thank you, Ms. Potts. I promise I'm alright." Charles replied softly. Tony wanted to say something else, _I can see your fists bawling up back there._ Because really, human knuckles - _live_ , human, pubescent knuckles - weren't supposed to be that pale, while simultaneously vein-ridden. "Actually," Charles added. "I think I'll get some sleep before we get there."

Tony made a sound of approval. "Yeah, we've got a solid hour or so to go." he looked to Pepper who approved of his estimation. "I'll wake you when we get there."

As they pulled to a toll, Tony turned in his seat to find some sort of affirmation that Charles was okay, but instead found him asleep, his face wrapped in a 'Cambridge' hoodie to block out the afternoon sun. There was a soft snoring that blended with the hum of the car and Pepper turned up the radio as Tony put them in Park.

"You shouldn't stare at him," she told him softly, writing something down in a leatherback. "I'm sure it freaks him out a little bit."

Tony exhaled and rubbed his eyes. "I haven't seen him since he was _six_ , Pepper," Tony hissed. "Ten whole years and now I'm just supposed to . . . And he has to . . ." Pepper looked up at Tony after a moment of him stumbling over himself and made a 'Go on' motion with her hand.

"What if he hates the school? What if he hates _them_?" Tony's mind was running a mile a minute trying to figure out how to properly articulate everything in there. Pepper would follow because, he figured, she was used to it. But Tony . . . he was suffering.

Pepper put a calming hand on his shoulder. "I don't think Charles is that type of person, Tony. I think you just need to give him some room to _breathe_. I know you want to jump right in, but you've got a point: he just lost his parents, and now he's living with an almost complete stranger. I don't think it could get much worse."

And strangely, Tony was comforted by that thought. The kid was already, partially messed up enough from this shell-shock of a week; there's not much more Tony could do to top that.

Still though, maybe Tony's _last_ mistake could be _not_ going to the funeral.


	2. Tell Me Something Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles has got all these problems, he figures. But what does he do with them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ain't got no kind of feeling inside  
> I got something that'll sure enough set your stuff on fire  
> You refuse to put anything before your pride  
> What I got will knock your pride aside
> 
> \- Tell me Something Good - Rufus

Charles has got all these problems, he figures. 

People stare at him sideways when he walks past, and everyone's got this look of, _I know what you must be going through, darling, but it'll be alright_. And they've all got this theory that he's so brave and _oh_ , so kind. It's not that he doesn't _want_ to be kind, nor that he doesn't _want_ to be strong, but he swears — in a deep, quiet part of his head (because it'd be impolite to say aloud): he's going to pull himself apart in front of them, just so they can all see what he's really like inside.

And even if he does have these problems, Charles rations, what the _hell_ is he supposed to do about it? He can't throw a fit now, catching a bit of his mothers cynicism in his conscience (because aside from her money, that's all he really has left of her now.) His parents have been dead for five days now and he had been the perfect little boy throughout the whole bloody business. The spotlight was on him now, and he wasn't about to plead into the hands of Miss Potts or Mister Stark. Not now - not this early.

Charles doesn't know what to think of Stark, honestly. Even as he lays in bed in the morning all alone, the only sounds are distant, muffled honking and the sound of real and not-real voices bleeding into his head as a hum, Charles can't decided on what he thinks of his ruffled godfather. It's mixing inside of him, starting at the base of his stomach with a fierce sharp anger.

 _Where the hell_ were _you? Why can't I go back home?_

And then it bubbles higher to tickle his ribs with petty irritation.

_"Buddy"?_

And then it starts to simmer right below his sternum with a quiet acceptance.

_I'll try if you will. I don't want it to be like before. I just want to be-_

But he's never going to say this out loud, so he finds no use in dwelling over it right now.

He sighs, and throws off the duvet.

"Good morning, sir." a voice says neutrally. "I'll be taking care of you until Master Stark returns."

Charles fell to the floor, taking the pillows and array of heavy blankets down with him.

It's a ridiculous response, he supposes, because Stark hadn't had a room finished for Charles just quite yet, so he had had to sleep on a sofa (a floor above the one where Mister Stark slept and lived, he was told). It was possible that there was someone in the room to wake him — though Charles highly doubted that Mister Stark would actually hire an English staff, or that anyone would agree to work for him, by the looks of yesterday — but when he looked around, he was alone.

"Where are you?" he called, his voice scratchy and cracked from disuse. " _Who_ are you?" 

There was a pause, like whatever _it_ was speaking to Charles was not ready for a question like this.

"I'm not exactly in a place, sir," the voice explained. "My name is JARVIS."

"Oh," Charles said. "Are you a—" Charles tried to think. "Are you a computer system?"

"Of sorts," JARVIS replied. "Would you like breakfast, sir."

Charles shook his head, trying to get used to this new arrangement. "I'm alright," he said. "Thank you, though. Also, you can call me Charles."

He wondered how JARVIS would respond to that.

"Charles," JARVIS tested, unfazed. "I've been instructed to tell you that Master Stark has gone to the courthouse to sign some documents, but meanwhile, you are allowed to, 'make yourself at home'."

Charles nodded to himself, hoping, deep down inside of himself that something went wrong at the courthouse, or that his parents miraculously—

No, Charles decided. No more childish dreams.

"JARVIS," Charles began. "I hope it wouldn't be too much trouble if you could tell me where my things are?" Charles could've sworn that he left them right beside the couch . . .

"Master Stark didn't want to wake you last night," JARVIS explained. "Your things are in your room, sir. Just down that hall there." And just to his right, the frame around an expansive-looking hallway lit up a cobalt color. At the same time, the room began to open up. _Automated blinds,_ Charles reasoned, rubbing his still-sleepy eyes.

"Will you be needing any more assistance at present because my systems see to be—"

There was static.

"HEY CHARLIE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Stark.

Dammit.

"Mister Stark?" Charles inquired, fully knowing, but not wanting anything to do with his annoying, _screeching_ , godfather just quite this early in the . . . afternoon? Charles begins to think that he should really invest in a watch.

He heard something crash in the background. "CHARLIE, YOU SEE THAT ELEVATOR OVER THERE?"

Charles covered his ears. "Yes?"

"God— Fuck— CHARLIE, I NEED YOU TO GO TO THE ELEVATOR AND COME DOWN TO THE SECOND FLOOR."

Charles was starting to feel frightened. As Charles was walking, he asked, "Aren't I the second floor now?" Because that's what Stark had said the night before.

"FROM THE TOP."

The doors closed and Charles was going down, down, _down_ . . .

 

* * *

 

"Charlie," Stark began, kicking a few things aside with this foot. "this is Dummy . . ." Stark introduced, counting silently on his fingers. "Dummy 4.0."

Dummy 4.0 began to erect at the prospect of its name, or the prospect of use. Stark patted — what Charles interpreted as — the control panel at Dummy's base.

Charles raised an eyebrow. "What happened to the other three?" he asked, surveying Dummy.

Stark looked down and sniffed. "We don't like to talk about it," he said solemnly. "Do we Dummy?"

Dummy shook his robotic arm in the same somber fashion.

"Anyway," Stark said. "I know you're really into _biology_ and _research_ and all that boring _shit_ —"

"Stuff, sir."

Stark scowled, but followed through. "Boring _stuff_ , and I figured he'd be better than Butterfingers down in the lab."

Charles furrowed his eyebrows. "'In the lab'? What would I be doing in the lab?"

"Well I can't have you mucking up the kitchen," Stark told him matter-of-factly. "Pepper did the designs herself just last year and it'd be a shame if something happened." Stark leaned against the back of the sofa. "Which it won't, because you'll be down in the lab, poking and prodding at everything with a cell membrane."

Charles's heart stuttered. He didn't like Stark at all, but a _lab_? He had a lab that he was willing to let Charles _use_? His father had had labs as well, that stretched under buildings and fields, scattered across Europe and parts of Asia and Charles was allowed to _observe_ , but hardly ever _touch_ unless his mother was countries away. That was not to say that Charles didn't _experiment_ (the kitchen was always a mess) but in a proper, real, stainless steel playground . . .

Charles could only stare.

"You're into . . ."

"Genetics." Charles supplied, before Tony ( _Stark_ ) could pop his — albeit tiny — bubble of _perfect_.

Tony nodded knowingly. "Genetics, right." he smiled. "Your dad sent me a letter when you were younger talking about 'trying to find the molecules'."

Charles smiled. "He bought me a microscope after I pulled a stunt at one of Mother's events."

Stark frowned a little. "Cutest damn thing he ever saw, he said."

"He's dead now," Charles said, and he didn't mean to say that but it happened.

 _Great, Charles. Now there's lab and you've ruined everything._ Tony seemed to weigh this, though, like he wasn't sure the words had actually been spoken. After a minute of silence, he cleared his throat and leveled with Charles, who was a little more than a head shorter than him.

"Charlie," he said, placing an awkward hand on Charles's shoulder. "I know you might not . . . _like_ me. But we're in this together now, alright?" Charles bit his lip, but nodded. "You, me, Dummy IV, JARVIS, and Pepper. We gotta pull together . . . at least until school starts. Can you do that for me?"

Again, Charles nodded.

Dummy rotated on whatever axis it had underneath all that metal and wire, and Charles tried not to scream as Stark removed his hand and said, "Alright, let's go down and get the rest of the things for the lab."

 

* * *

 

_Ring!_

_Fury's gotta pick up._ Tony thinks. He never goes home, _especially_ not in the summer. He'll be there, sitting at his desk and reading or brooding over the new contracts that _have got to be signed before September first, Tony, I'm not kidding._

_Ring!_

And, Charles can't hate him _that_ _much_. And even if he does, Tony figures, then there's a whole campus where he can hide away.

_Ring!_

"Stark, what are you doing? It's the middle of the night." He's not the happiest Fury Tony has had to deal with, but he'd take what he could get.

"So good to hear from you! How's the crew?" Tony asked, like it wasn't four in the morning and he was on his fourth pot of Colombian brew Pepper picked up for him on her last international meeting. (Well, technically it was _his_ meeting, but you can't just say 'no' to a Hugh Hefner house party.)

"They're enjoying their time away from each other, just as you should be." Fury said slowly, and Tony had a feeling he should be sleeping with one eye open until the end of the decade.

"Right, well, I've got a favor to ask of you."

" _Christ_ , this should be good. What could the great Tony Stark ask of me?"

Tony rolled his eyes. This was why he didn't ask favors from Fury. "I have a child."

"You have a child?"

"The Xavier heir, in fact."

A pause.

"You have _the_ Brian Xavier's _son_?"

"He's my godson."

" _Brian Xavier's son_ is your _godson_." Fury let out a long, static breath. "You've got my attention."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> Please let me know what you thought in the comments, or if you have any suggestions for the next chapter. I'm thinking of just going straight into the thick of it, but if you'd like a little sassy/angst/exposition filler, just let me know and I will provide.  
> (I just really want to get to the fun part.)  
> -Atlas


	3. Use Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Charles has no idea what he did or why any of this is happening, neither does Tony, and deals are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talkin' 'bout you usin' people  
> It all depends on what you do  
> It ain't too bad the way you're usin' me  
> 'Cause I sure am usin' you to do the things you do
> 
> \- Use Me - Bill Withers

"He's a genius." Fury stated as threw the results down onto the table. He walked around and sat at the head of the table. "He's an absolute _genius_. The board is offering whatever you're asking." 

Banner picked up the packet of Charles's test scores that were littered with comments from the board. "No one in the history of this institution has ever even come close to _touching_ his score." he said, taking off his glasses. He was sitting on the edge of his seat with his, staring at the papers in amazement. He started rolling glasses between his thumb and forefinger, and Tony knew he was truly astonished. (Banner never wore his glass when he was excited.)

"Except Lehnsherr," offered Rogers, and he shrugged. He was sitting in the chair beside Banner, glancing over at the papers with little interest. "Either way, he seems kind - very polite boy."

 _Of course,_ Tony thinks.  _Rogers would look for character._

"He'll be eaten alive for it." said Tony, rubbing his eyes harshly. He was sitting in a chair beside Fury's mini bar by the window. He was warm and uncomfortable, but no one was staring at him or judging him literally behind his back, so he figured his suffering was well worth it.

And he wasn't wrong. Tony had heard stories in Brian's letters about Charles talking to trees and the moon and having very proper tea parties with the house plants. Always said 'please' and 'thank you' and ate his vegetables without protest. If it wasn't even for the fact that he was overwhelmingly a doormat, for all intents and purposes, Charles would get beaten to a pulp simply because he was a privileged human who simply _didn't belong_ in a school full of people who _didn't belong_ anywhere else. 

Rogers squinted. " _I_ like him."

"He and Tony aren't blood-related," Nat cut in. "so I'm sure you do."

Rogers looked to Natasha, who was standing between him and Banner. After a few minutes of pursing his lips, Tony looked to the rest of the group.

Thor - who had been 'recruited' by Fury personally and hadn't been required to give an actual name - was looking at the floor; Hawkeye - as the group had taken to call him, but whose name was actually Clint Barton - was sitting on a tall, wooden stool that placed him above everyone except Thor; and Barnes - 'Buck' to Rogers, 'Bucky' to his close friends (which mainly consisted of himself, Nat, Thor and Thor's brother), and Mr. Barnes to almost anyone else, because there was no in-between with him - was sitting by the door, keeping his eyes on Rogers and saying nothing. 

Tony sighed. This was hopeless.

"What about you, Sasquatch?" Tony asked, addressing Thor. "What do you think of my little prodigy?"

Thor raised his chin a fraction of an inch and reach for the packet. "I know not much of his intellect, but I agree with Steven when it comes to the boy's character."

And he mindlessly flipped through the papers as Tony cursed under his breath, "Goddamn history teachers."

He looked to Barton and nodded. "What about you, Eagle?"

Barton snapped his attention to Tony. "He seems depressed." he said abruptly, and then hesitated. (Barton had always had issues with honesty.) "He doesn't seem to like _you_ very much."

"Neither do most people." Tony offered, trying to make himself feel better, more than to put Barton at ease. 

"That's because they've met you." quipped Rogers, leaning back in his chair, obviously feeling proud of himself. 

Tony immediately glared at him again. "You know what, Captain America? Why don't you go shove your red, white, and blue right up your-"

"Stark!" Natasha warned. "Enough."

He was about to ask why he was the only one getting reprimanded, when he heard the slap of Natasha hitting Steve upside the head. 

He smiled in greedy satisfaction. 

There was another silence.

"Wait," Natasha looked at Tony in confusion. "Didn't the Xavier's die in a plane crash a few weeks ago?"

 _Shit_. 

"Not _technically_." Tony offered, and suddenly wished that Pepper wasn't 'sitting in' with Charles, states away. She had always been much better with dealing with things upfront. 

"Two weeks ago," offered Barnes. "Brian Xavier, owner and co-owner of Xavier Labs and Stark Industries respectively, and his wife, Sharon died in a freak-plane-crash near the Andes. Their son, Charles, now lives with his very famous _godfather_ , Tony Stark."

The room turned to him. 

"Asshole." Tony muttered. 

"To be fair, you shouldn't lie in front ex-assassins who can recite newspaper articles verbatim."

Natasha threw one of Fury's mini-meditation pebbles at Barton's head. "Clint!" she reprimanded, but Barton simply put up his hands innocently. 

"He's not wrong." said Barnes, finally taking his eyes off of Rogers. He looked to Natasha and then Tony. "I like Charles, but Stark's right - he won't survive here."

"Why do you figure that?" Rodgers asked, soft and slow. 

Barnes didn't look at Rogers. "He's smart, sure - brilliant. He's got good, old-fashioned aristocracy drilled into him, and - God save him - the boy loves to _read_."

"So he's a nerd," said Banner, looking between Barnes and Tony. "I was a nerd, and I survived boarding school just fine."

Barnes shook his head. "That's the thing-"

"Don't you _dare_." Tony warned, and looked at Fury. "Isn't this going against policy, or something?"

Fury pressed his lips together and gave Stark a look. "They'll find out on the first day of school, Stark." Fury said, matter-of-fact. "Better they hang you for it than make a spectacle out of him." he pointed out. "Barnes, go on."

"He's human! Jesus!" Tony burst, and he was hoping that some devil decided there was a vacant spot int he deepest, darkest pits of hell for it. "He's human, alright? But, what does that matter if-" 

"You know why it matters." Natasha snapped. "They will all tear him to shreds; I can hear the campus protest now. Also, really? It was your _brightest_ idea to put the grieving, _human_ son of one of the world's richest men and scariest women into a school for _mutants_? Are you _trying_ to drive it home that he's going to be an outsider or was it just a coincidence that your guardian happened to be out of town?"

Before Tony could argue, Banner started in on Natasha. "Now, we don't know that. We have 'human' staff and the students are perfectly acceptable of them." 

"They don't have a choice on that one. Hell, half of them feel like it's better that way - 'humans finally giving back to the mutant race'. I've heard that one fall out of Frost's mouth more than a few times. And our human staff don't really count."

"And why not?"

"Because they're aren't _'normal'_!" Natasha - apparently in a flash flood of _real_ emotions Tony never knew she even _had_ \- looked like she was about to burst. "Stark's a multi- _millionaire_ -"

" _Billionaire_ ," he interrupted, automatic.

"Your head is still in the guillotine," Barton pointed out harshly. "so I'd suggest you _shut up._ " 

Natasha continued. "Clint and I were sharp-shooters, Barnes and Rogers are both from a different century, no one even knows what the hell Thor and Loki _are_ . . . Would you like me to keep going?"

Banner puts his glasses back on and looks thoughtful. "Well, what do  _you_ propose we do?"

"Well," Fury says. "It doesn't _really_ matter. I appreciate all of you, and the _hard work_ you do," he gives a long, hard look to Tony. "but the board and I have already decided to allow Charles to attend S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, so I suggest you all figure out a way to keep the dogs off him."

And then he leaves the seven -  _Where have the others gotten off to?_ \- of them to decided how the hell to fix this mess. 

 

* * *

 

Tony wished he knew how it got started, but he's quite discouraged to say that he doesn't.

It might be that his father worked at the university when it was a sturdy old college, home to entitled, aristocrat brats and they were still trying to get by - him, his mother, and Howard. It might be when Howard transformed the abandoned West Wing into a glass paradise and the bio-medical and life-science labs could finally _breathe_ , now that they weren't stationed right next to the boiler rooms.The new glass room provided a perfect spot for one of the best greenhouses in America, and when you mixed greenhouse that rivaled the botanical gardens, with one of the best bio-medical, chemical (eventually), and life-science research centers in the world, you got the best university, powered by green, all-natural energy. 

Tony was a science teacher. He was high-school level, though, so he didn't quite have the privilege that Natasha and Hawk had in teaching the kids about their 'gifts'. He almost did, though, sometimes. Sometimes he sat in on their lectures and felt moved on how they could take little, bright-eyed menders from thinking themselves broken, to changing them into inspired, kind, soft-around-the-edges-people who were ready to learn more about their 'gifts'. He thought it a little ironic that humans got to teach the class. When he first heard the idea (before he even met Clint and Natasha) he thought it a lot like an old, white, right-wing nut teaching civil rights of any kind to a classroom of blacks, gays, and gypsies. (Actually, Tony felt like he would be more entertained of a classroom full of blacks, gays, and gypsies, but when he mentioned this to Pepper, it earned him silence for three days, so he shut that idea down.) After Tony'd met them though, he felt much better. 

But yeah, Tony was a science teacher. Called by Fury, personally, after he 'got back' and the company changed to something more 'family-friendly'. (Because, to be fair, you can't have a man who's company name was written on bombs that killed thousands of people in one strike.) Technically, Stark Industries owned the school, because after Howard discovered (or found out about, really, to say it in a non-Christopher Columbus way) mutants during the war, he figured: Why not give them a place to train and live away from prosecution?

With a little help from Peggy Carter, S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy was born. 

Fury was the principle, employed by a mutant, Dean Shaw, who's name was Sebastian. 

Now, whoever hired Sebastian Shaw, Tony thought, must have done so while Tony was in his third or second stint in rehab, because if that man did not have **SEXUAL HARASSMENT LAWSUIT** written all over him . . . But yes, Sebastian Shaw, ruler of all. (This was a thing Tony could've _sworn_ he saw on a motivational poster in Shaw's office somewhere.)

Rogers (or, as Tony referred to him more affectionately: Captain America) was an ex-marine-turned-art-teacher. Tony - to this day - doesn't understand how that connection was paved in Fury's mind at first, but Tony saw one of Rogers's 'rough sketches', he - albeit silently - understood Fury's reasoning. Rogers may have been 180-pounds of Star-Spangled, soft-skinned, blue-eyed jail-bait, but he could make Michelangelo shed a few tears with a gel pen, sticky note, and a eighty minute board meeting. His downfall, in Tony's book, was that he was blindly loyal, very naive, and the _definition_ of a patriotic - surprisingly not chauvinistic, though - goody-goody.

Those were things that he just couldn't make up for, so he didn't. 

And, even in Tony's head - and the heads of everyone, he assumed - with Rogers, came Barnes. James Buchanan Barnes, a.k.a: 'Bucky'. 

He assumed the hiring process being like:

"Hello, Mr. Rogers, please have a seat."

And Rogers would have been all, "Not without Bucky, he's my best friend with nappy hair and bad eyeliner."

Blah Blah Blah Military Blah Blah Blah Prestigious Blah Blah Blah Salary, Art Room, Unlimited Supplies Blah. 

Until Fury would've stood, gave Rogers that 'you just sold me your soul' smile, and shook his hand. "Well, it'll be good seeing you in September." or something.

To which Rogers would've replied with, "Not without my Bucky," or "With Bucky, of course," or-

The point is, is that as sure as Tony was that Barnes had a long list of jaw-dropping credentials from the Navy-seals or Special Ops or whatever the hell the 107th was, Tony was just as sure that Barnes was only at S.H.I.E.L.D because Rogers was at S.H.I.E.L.D.

Barnes was quiet, and Tony liked that about him. He didn't say much in meetings, or in the break-room. He was very jumpy, but Barnes was the librarian, so it's not like that was something he had to worry about being called out on. (Not like anyone would, though, unless they wanted to deal with six feet and four inches of angry ex-marine or be drugged by a Russian ex-assassin.

The Russian ex-assassin, of course, being Natasha Romanoff.

Tony didn't know much about Natasha, except that she gave up her days of ambushing war-criminals in - what Tony once translated as - Budapest. She and Clint taught 'gym' together where they, (in Fury's own words) "taught and trained the world's most powerful beings to hone and use their skills and abilities to the fullest potential". Tony thought the whole thing was the first thing his father had gotten right about the 'dealing with children' thing. No one had even taught him how to ride a bike when he was younger, so the fact that Clint and Natasha were willing to put their lives at risk some days to teach kids with two heads how to walk and chew gum at the same time and kids with _laser beams_ coming out of their eyes how to blink . . . Well . . . Tony thought that the whole thing was _awesome_. (And that's not to say that the rest of the 'team' didn't help out when help was needed, but Clint and Natasha were the only ones that got _paid_ for it.)

'Thor' - who didn't even technically _exist_ , according to JARVIS, and the UN and CIA's facial recognition software - was a history teacher. They all taught every 'grade' that came to the school, but Sasquatch - as Tony had taken to calling him - even had a second job somewhere far, _far_ away. Thor's brother - Link? Lyle? Lorry? - was going to start this year as the language arts teacher. He was, apparently, planning to teach German as well. 

Banner was a math teacher, and as far as math teachers went, there was nothing extraordinary about him. He was average height, average looks, nerd in high school, skipped a hand-full of grades, and a genius. Banner ticked all the boxes to become a full-fledged, passionate math teacher . . . except for the fact that if you got him pissed enough, he'd turn into an enormous, green, rage-monster that destroyed city blocks. 

Tony was a fan of it, he had to admit. But Banner wasn't, so he dropped it and meditated with him on Sundays as support. 

If he were to forget anyone on occasion, it would be Sam Wilson, the shrink. He didn't have anything against the guy, except for - on a bad day - the fact that he only got the job because he rescued Rogers from a car wreck two blocks away from Fury's office and Rogers wouldn't shut up about it until Fury wrote up a contract and had Wilson sign on all the lines. 

Tony didn't really care. Wilson cared about his job, and wasn't as imposing as his partner-in-crime. He even took joy in the slightly homicidal, jealous fits Barnes had sometimes because of Wilson's friendship with Rogers. 

No matter how many times he thinks about it, though, Tony just can't figure out where it all started.

He's quite discouraged to say it.

 

* * *

 

"You did _what_?"

Tony didn't know why he had been expecting a better reaction. Maybe he should've called her the day before, he thought, or while Charles was taking the test, or before the meeting, or even before Fury called the Board of Directors, the School Board, and Shaw to secure a place for Charles in the fall.

He didn't do any of that, to be clear. He thought about doing some of those things, but he didn't, because - deep, _deep_ down inside of him - he knew that what he was doing was, _inevitably_ wrong and Pepper would've talked him out of it. 

He sighed. "Now, before you freak out, just let me explain-"

"Oh," she threw her hands up, halting him in both body - she had been stepping closer to the hallway that held Charles's room and he had been following her - and in words. "I don't want to _hear_   _it_ ,Tony." she put her fingers to her temple and began talking to herself. "I can't believe you would even-"

"It's an opportunity to, 'broaden his horizons', as I understand it." And he shouldn't have said that, because he could see the stress-hives sprinkling Pepper's neck-

_Are those hickeys?_

"Don't you dare feed me that laminated pamphlet horse-crap when you know that he'll be thrown _to the dogs_." 

"Talking about me again?" Charles inquired, standing in front of his door in a faded hoodie and tartan pajamas bottoms. 

All of the color drained from Pepper's face, except from her nose and below her eyes, a blush spreading across that region like a wave. "Actually, Charles, I was just about to come and get you." She told him, and Tony didn't know if she was lying and just trying avoid him, or was genuinely trying to-

"We're all going _shopping_." Pepper announced, letting out a long, loose exhale. "All three of us. You need things that will make you feel at home, especially if you're going to move _again_ \- " she glared at Tony. "for school. So, Charles," she turned to Charles and pointed, "Why don't you go take a shower and maybe JARVIS can help you select an outfit?"

"Excellent idea ma'am." JARVIS responded, and Tony could tell Charles felt a little betrayed. 

"Do I have a say in this?" Charles asked gently. Tony knew that if he had told Charles to get dressed, Charles might have slammed the door in his face and told him to fuck off. (Not something he had done yet, though, thank God, but he was getting there.)

Charles may have hated Tony, but he had taken a liking to Pepper. 

"Technically, no," she told him regretfully. "If not for your uncle, do it for me. Please?" 

Charles sighed, smiled slightly, and walked back into his room.

Pepper turned to him and he snapped to attention. "As for you," she hissed, moving away from the hallway. "You _are_ going to shower, shave, and put on your Sunday best."

Tony felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, swallowed, and smiled. "Ms. Potts," A wry smile graced his face. "You're acting very cold. Has something upset you?"

JARVIS would approve, omit the sarcasm.

Pepper smiled something wicked, and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "You wanted crystal optics, Mr. Stark; now you have them." she told him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "But I swear to God, if you so much as _breathe_ without my approval, HR will be so swamped with paper work, they'll have to create a separate department to make sure every branch of Stark Industries is shut down and locked up." 

And Tony didn't know why she was so invested in this, or why she cared so much, or why the hell he was getting so _hot_ all of the sudden. She walked away before he could say anything. He felt like his body was filled and his mouth was stuffed to the brim. 

She would be the end of him, he was sure of it. 

 

* * *

 

Later on that night, Charles is on his bed, listening to an album Tony had saved in JARVIS's archives. There were photos of him in the archive, and he watched them all float by in a holographic blur. There were photos of his father and mother, photos of Tony and his parents, old recordings of Tony's dad at work or his mother singing, and music.

There was so much music, Charles figured it'd be _years_ before he could listen to even half of it. He decided this a reasonable feat, had JARVIS download all of the music onto his new iPod (complementary of Tony) and started with the 'J's.

He didn't hear a knock at the door. 

"Charlie?" Charles _does_ hear, over Jackie Wilson's, "Higher  & Higher".

He jumped off the bed and stopped the music. Tony had already said it was okay for Charles to go through his things (so long as he didn't have to take 'heavy measures' to unlock any of it), but having him here, looking at him directly while he did so made him feel uncomfortable. 

"Yes?" he asked, and he moved aside to let Tony through. 

Charles's room was larger. Quite larger than the one he had countryside, but also very  . . . different compared to the thing there. Somehow, Charles feels homier in this room made of glass and blinding white and - whatever the hell that green chair in the corner was made of - than he ever did back at his old 'house' (Charles refused to refer to it as a mansion). His floors are colder here, and there was some sort of furry rug (which Charles hoped wasn't real fur) in the middle. His bed was expansive, so much so, that if he slept in the middle, it would take two minutes to actually get free. 

The door that lead out into the sitting area on his floor (also, why the hell did Charles need his own floor?) was right by his bed, and at first that made him uncomfortable, but when the nightmares started, he was so happy he almost cried, and thanked Tony. 

"I think we should talk." Tony said to him. Charles could tell it was _Pepper_ who thought they should talk. "I mean, my dad and I would go through tiffs like this, and then he would sit me down for a ten to fifteen minute talk, I would smile and nod, and then we wouldn't talk again for about a month and a half, so I guess you shouldn't trust my moral compass." Tony shrugged. "This is all I know, I guess."

Charles shrugged and put his hands in his hoodie pocket. His father's pen was in there, and just running his hands over the raised print on the side made him feel calm. "My dad would always take me to the gardens." Charles smiled. "Just before the plane crash, we had been fighting about-" he choked.  _Keep that secret in your back pocket._ "We had been fighting about my mother." 

He walked to sit on the edge of Charles's bed. "Your dad used to love flowers." Tony put his hands behind his head. "I remember when he met your mom," Tony chuckled. "He sent her Orange Lilies and Yellow Carnations."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Why would he send her those?"

"From what your Dad told me, loosely, they mean, 'I hate you' and 'You are a disappointment'." Tony smirked. "On their wedding day, he sent her dried white roses."

Tony was full out laughing with tears in his eyes when Charles asked, "What do _those_ mean?"

"I'd rather die than be with you."

"Classy."

"Yeah," Tony relented. "Your mother was-"

" _Sir_." interrupted JARVIS. "You should be _quite_ careful."

" _My point is,_ " Tony said, more to JARVIS than to Charles. "Is that I don't think it's a good idea for us to leave _this_ ," he gestured between them. "unresolved."

Charles cocked his head to the side. "I thought we had an agreement yesterday."

Tony mumbled something that resembled, "So did I," but before Charles could ask what he said, Tony was sitting up on the bed, staring at Charles with a twinkling in his eye. "I was thinking we could make something more . . . withstanding."

Charles scoffed. "I'm not going to promise you anything." Inside, he was feeling ready to run. 

Tony sat. "It isn't about promises, Charlie."

Charles raised an eyebrow, "I'm listening."


	4. Everyday People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fact of it is: Charles is really bad at making first impressions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Different strokes  
> For different folks
> 
> And so on and so on
> 
> \- Sly & the Family Stone

_Two months later_

 

"Do you have your phone?"

_Flash!_

"Yes, Pepper."

_Flash! Flash! Flash!_

"Do you have your glasses? I know you have contacts, but I just want to make sure-"

"Pepper," Charles puts his hands on Pepper's hands to stop them from grooming him. (She's been picking invisible lint off of his shirt for the last ten minutes.) "I have everything. I'm okay. Tony's reassembling Dummy down in the lab at the school, so all I have to do is _show up_."

She nods, tears prominent in her eyes.  _Are you going to tell him?_

 _Not anytime soon._ "Pepper?"

She snaps out of herself and a tear falls. "Yes, honey?"

"In order to do that, I'm going to need you to let going of me." 

She had grab his collar once more, and now she released it, chuckling a bit. "I shouldn't be so emotional. You'll both be home for Christmas." she wiped her eyes and another camera went off. 

Charles didn't know who really _cared_ about the son of dead multi-billionaire (or the godson of an alive one) going off to, "an elite, mysterious boarding school" (as it was named by  _Time_ ). The airport in Italy was swarmed now, detailing every moment of Charles getting on the plane back to New York, probably fabricating something about him falling apart in Pepper's arms, wailing and refusing to let go. All the big name reporters were there, draining the life blood out of the personal moment. 

Neither Charles, nor Pepper were paying any mind to them. 

They both smiled at each other when Charles began to walk away. 

"Call me when you land, alright? Let me know you got to the school safely."

Charles nodded. 

"Make friends."

Charles winked and turned away. 

"Get into trouble."

He smiled to himself. 

"Oh, and Charles?"

He turned around. 

She smiled and clutched her bag tightly at her elbow. "Go easy on him." 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Italy was supposed to be a buffer for Charles. That's what Tony had told him before he and Pepper got on a plane for two months, backpacking through half of Europe every other day and bonding with the freckled woman. Tony joined them in Lisbon, a village just outside of Paris, Barcelona, Prague, and a few other, off-handed and questionable destination that were less popular. To be fair, Charles had been to most of these places before he was five and was fluent in most of the languages spoken, translating for Pepper, and teaching her conversational French and German. 

In a way, the trip was a buffer (despite the raging and many headaches Charles got in bigger towns and cities). Charles unwound a little, laughed a little more, _smiled_. Charles formed a bond with Pepper he never would've predicted, and didn't have to bow to Tony to do it. 

He was allowed to grieve in _peace_ without pressure that came with being photographed with Tony Stark every fifteen minutes, and headlines that would've read: "Charles Xavier, Grieving Prince" or something like that, reading - in detail - how he was so broken up about the death of his parents; how every time he smiled or laughed, he was an inspiration; how the loss must've been eating him alive. 

Instead of that, though, Charles and Pepper hiked, and climbed mountains, and ate foreign foods, and laughed together, and _lived_ like no one was watching them because _no one was_. For once in his life, Charles wasn't a prodigy, or a pawn, or presentation.

 _That_ was the deal. He would get freedom before going to school - before rumors would spread and his name would be ingrained into every tabloid that had the backbone to hire anyone with half a brain, because  _Charles Xavier_ going to a school for _mutants,_ and as far as they've been told, he isn't one.

It didn't take him long to realize he'd be thrown to the dogs - that Tony was going to throw him to the dogs to save his reputation. What he was surprised to find out, though, was that he was completely okay with going, even if it meant his name plastered everywhere in black and white. Charles wholeheartedly agreed to the deal, and that was one thing he hadn't had to lie to Tony about. 

The trip was just a guilt bonus.

When he arrived at the airport in New York, Tony was there, clean-shaven with ray-bans. 

"Charlie," he nodded, smirking a little as Charles walked through the airport gate to meet him. Tony took his bags and they started walking, not looking at each other. Charles wondered why there was no one else there to greet them, but he said nothing. 

The ride to their destination was filled with Tony continuously and sharply looking in the rear-view to make sure Charles was breathing and not trying to slip a noose around his neck, while the sound of whatever Charles was listening to in his headphones played muffled through the undertone of Tony's classic rock station. There were several attempts between both Tony and Charles to turn up their respective music to drown out the other, but no one arose the champion.

Neither of them were prepared when they arrived at the school, a gravelly courtyard crunching under the rubber of the car's tires to greet them. 

"Whelp," Tony said, cutting the engine. "This is it." He opened his door, stepped out, and stretched.  _God,_ he thought.  _It's been too long._

It had been a week since we was last there, moving Charles's things into his dorm room, but it was different - actually being here with the kids he knew, and the teachers he was acquainted with. There were a few students who stayed over the vacation, but there was nothing like having the quad and the courtyard filled with chattering voices that he recognized - voices he listened to in previous years mumble in fear and curiosity.

He heard the door open behind him after a moment, and before either one of them could contemplate if they should say something, Tony walked around the car to gather Charles's suitcase. "The rest of your clothes should be in your room." he told him. "You're on a normal Block," he said, wondering if Charles would even know what that was. "but if you want, we can get you a Private later, if you don't feel comfortable where you are."

Charles nodded absently, looking around at the display before him:

The first thing he noticed were the trees. They dotted the freshly-cut grass in an organized fashion. Also, he noted, some of them looked singed, as if they had been hit by lightening. (He would be sure to ask about that.) They lined a few walkways that led to various buildings around the campus. There was a directory board with various-colored papers scattered across. Also, he noticed, there was a girl sitting underneath the tree. There was a book in her hands, a white streak contrasting with her otherwise dark dark hair tucked behind her ear, and she seemed to be wearing Victorian-era style gloves with shiny, silk buttons. (He would be sure to not ask about any of that.)

The second thing he noticed was the absolute  _silence_ in his head. 

Stark smirked. "How's your head feeling?" 

Charles pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side. Tony couldn't possibly . . . ? "Fine," And actually, his head felt better than it had in _months_. "There's a little bit of . . . I don't know . . . Pressure?"

Tony nodded, and pointed to one of the street lamps posted by the intersection. "Telepathy suppressant fields. We've got a telepath or two here and we figured it was only fair to keep everyone's thoughts just that. Everybody's head gets thrown through a loop at first." he said. "Don't worry; you'll adjust

Charles's eyes widened. "T-Telepaths?"

"Well," Tony assured him, rolling Charles's suitcase up the walk-way into the building, letting Charles follow him into the building. "Not  _technically_ , I suppose. We have one mind reader, and one girl who thinks she can sense feelings." A cool burst of air hits them as soon as they get inside. "Anyway, those things out there stop them from 'sensing' anything on campus."

"I thought you train people here?" Charles asked, because Tony may not know about his . . . condition, but that didn't mean Charles had to remain in the dark as well. He was powerful, he knew that much, and he could 'sense' far and wide. The only problem he could think to all of this was that he didn't know how control himself. 

Wonderful.

Tony nodded. "We do. They train off campus with Nat and Clin-"

Charles was sure Tony had some wonderful things to say about the school and his new life and what the year ahead would entail.

He was sure of it.

However, as Tony broke off mid-sentence, Charles's world went black. 

 

* * *

 

Charles was in a bright room.

"I swear to God you two-"  _What the hell am I going to do if he's brain dead?_

The bed he was laying on was hard, thin, starch, and lemon-smelling. He didn't mind it - it was all very peaceful, in retrospect. Had he not been suffering a massive headache, his right temple throbbing a pulse he wasn't sure was healthy, he would've been enjoying himself and the very few voices penetrating his mind. There wasn't even a dull hum now, it was strictly five or so bouncing off of each other like a dormant chat room full of empty participants who were all focused on one thing. 

"Tony," a woman - startlingly _not_ Pepper - interrupted. He'd never heard her before, and her head was like sandpaper. "I'm sure they didn't mean any harm."  _Tony looks like he's about to have an aneurysm. If there wasn't a kid involved, I swear . . ._

Was he at a hospital?

Tony seemed to splutter. "It's Howlett and a Summers! _Of course_ they 'meant harm'."  _Goddamn kids._

Tony seemed to remind himself that other children are not quite as . . .  _tame_ as Charles, and seemed to recall some . . . adventurous escapades of his youth. Good thing Charles was not the judgmental type because  _Jesus Christ, Tony, really?_

Charles actually wasn't in any pain. Looking through the Sandpaper Mind, he was in a bright place filled with white beds, a white floor, white walls, sunshine, and eight people. Her name was Natasha, and she was-

"Oh, look!" someone else remarked, a newer, younger, definitely feminine voice to this left near the end of the bed. "He's waking up."

Charles drew in a deep breath, and when he decided that it didn't hurt, he opened his eyes, taking in the scene before him:

Directly to his left, Tony stood, his shirt slightly bloodied and hair a complete mess. To Tony's left, Natasha, he figured, who was staring at him more curious -  _Wonder what's so special about this kid that'd make Stark like this_ \- with her arms crossed. To Natasha's left was a smaller, indigo girl with bright yellow eyes, staring down at him -  _I hope he's alright_. 

To Charles' right, there was a tall, blonde man with his arms crossed, almost mirroring the Natasha woman. Something about him seemed uncomfortable, like he was wearing a winter coat three sizes too big and just couldn't match the shoulders right. The man to his right, a little behind, didn't look too comfortable either, but there was something about the blond man that made him seem like he wasn't _right_ just yet. He was scruffy and tan, with black eye liner and a very suspicious-looking prosthetic. And Charles . . he _recognized_ him. Charles _knew_ him. He-

"Hey," Tony leaned down, resting his hand on the bed railing and snapping Charles out of . . . whatever he was thinking. "Hey Charlie. How are you feeling?"

Charles considers this. "Like there's a mosh pit going on in my head." 

"I'd imagine," interrupts a new woman ( _Someone Charles didn't see?_ ) quietly. "You took quite the hit, Mr. Xavier." _  
_

She's tall, Charles observes, really, _really_ tall. She's got long, brown hair that's tied behind her, and black wrappings tied around her wrists that disappear into her lab coat. Her voice is soft, but she's got an accent that he knows he knows, but just can't place. 

 _Well,_ he thinks,  _at least the children at this school will have some exposure to Europeans._

His attention is drawn to another person when an hand is put on his shoulder. "Hey man," (The kid as startling red sunglasses on that makes Charles take a minute to assess them, and Charles has no doubt that Tony had some sort of hand in their making.) "We're really-" There's a sound of skin hitting skin, and then suddenly there's another boy (man-child, more like) standing next to Visors. " _Really_ sorry about, um, your head and stuff."

"You mean his _concussion_?" the tall woman corrects them sharply, and then her accent _really_ shows: Eastern European. 

But then he catches something else.

 _I have a concussion?_ And he doesn't exactly know who he's asking, because he about ninety percent sure that he's got all of his walls up, along with the suppressors that Tony said were just outside. 

But after a second, the tall woman looks down at him and winks, and Charles thinks that his world is ending just a little bit. 

He keeps a straight face and turns back to the boys, figuring that he can deal with his possible-telepath-caretaker and possible-concussion-that-isn't-a-concussion later so long as that later isn't now. "It's quite alright," he tells them, because he can tell from a light skim of their subconscious that he is allowed - despite whatever arguments Natasha may have - these boys aren't inherently _violent_ or even _bad_. (Though, the one whose eyes he can actually see is eyeing him distastefully, like he'd rather shoot Charles than apologize to him.) "I didn't catch your name."

 _He wasn't kidding about the 'drilled aristocracy' thing_ , someone thinks, but he doesn't get much of a chance to think about that before he's told that the one with the glasses is named Scott and the one with the murder-eyes is Logan, and that they'll have gym together (which scares the shit out of Charles, because he cannot escape the feeling that Logan will probably kill him with a doge-ball and make it look like an accident.)

When they leave, he's officially introduced to the rest of his audience:

There's Steve, the blond art teacher who's got a brunette shadow. He's heard the name before, but his mind is still slightly jumbled and fogged. Steve will be called Mr. Rogers when school starts, but Tony keeps interrupting and calling him 'Cap', so he thinks he'll have to do some slightly illegal research on Mr. Rogers before school begins.

He'll sleep at night knowing Tony would be proud of him.

Steve gets his attention by expressing his apologies about Charles's parents. He says that they were wonderful people, and had the pleasure of meeting them both once, though it was brief. ( _Both of them were probably drunk and arguing - I'm sorry._ He thinks, even though he knows Steve will never hear it.) He says that he was impressed with Charles's test scores and is thrilled to have him as a student. (Which was less than wonderful for Charles, because he's shit at sketching.)

Charles decides he likes Mr. Rogers (who was only in there in the first place because he was on the quad when the incident happened and carried Charles up to the infirmary), but he thinks he needs to pay a little bit more attention to his surroundings, because when he's done introducing himself to Charles (with all the warmness he didn't know a single person _could_ possess) he says goodbye to Charles, and then _just leaves_. He doesn't look at his brunette shadow at all, nor does he whistle or pat his leg so he can follow; he just leaves him standing there - exposed. 

The brunette stands stock still, obviously eyeing the exit but staying completely rooted while the entire room stares at him. 

Nobody says anything, and then suddenly:

"I'm Raven," And then the room is looking at the indigo girl, who stands with her bottom lip between her teeth, obviously regretting getting the attention. She steps around Natasha and Tony, and extends a hand out to him. 

He takes it with a warm smile, looking into her bright, yellow eyes trying to radiate as much hope and comfort as he can. He can tell she's nervous without 'searching' her, and he can tell he's going to like her. "I'm Charles," he says. "Nice to meet you, Raven."

They both smile at each other once more, before they let go of each other's hand, and Charles gets a chance to glance away and see that the brunette has left the room.

Charles decides that he'll come to like the brunette man too, hopefully, but will stay wary of him. There's something about him that screams _WILL KILL FOR LOYALTY,_ and besides Mr. Rogers, Charles does not know who the man would be loyal to. 

Either way, he knows his mother would be proud of his decision, and that has to count for something. 

Next, he's hastily introduced to Natasha, who scares him more than anything else. He's not surprised to hear that she's a gym teacher (though the way she says 'gym' makes him slightly suspicious), and that, when she says it, Tony automatically thinks of her infamous record of being tough. Also bad news for Charles, because as much as he used to love to run around the grounds in Westchester, he's never had much experience with physical education, nor does he enjoy the idea of going through it with a number of other children he doesn't even know. 

When she leaves (and gently urges Raven out with her), it's just Charles and Tony for a moment, staring at each other in a slightly awkward silence. Tony stares at him with something like concern and curiosity, and Charles stares back, inviting Tony to make observations. Charles knows he hasn't been very fair to Stark, and that doesn't change his mind about certain things, but it does give him a new perspective on how to make life easier while living with him. (Also, he knows that he only has a handful of years left that he'll have to put up with it anymore.)

Either way, it's the most peace they've had with each other since the car ride to Stark Tower from the airport, and neither one of them want to damage that. (Funnily enough, their both on Pepper's orders to behave.)

 

* * *

 

Charles doesn't know what God he pissed off, but _wow_ , do they sure have it in for him. 

The nurse's name turns out to be Wanda, which he finds out later that afternoon. She's - for lack of a better term - a witch, and became the school nurse after Director Fury had found her and her brother in an orphanage in "a place you're not allowed to know about".

"I have another brother," she adds, after she goes into great detail (with a distinct softness in her voice) about how much of pain her other brother, Pietro, can be. "He doesn't like to talk about me and Pietro as much, but I think he's in your year." 

She's sitting by his bedside with a cup of tea in her hands, and because the tour of the school can wait and Tony actually had somewhere else to be, he's still propped up on the starchy hospital mattress, listening intently to nurse Wanda (which he's not _technically_ supposed to call her because it makes her feel old) as she tells him everything that flashes through her mind. He can't think of how long he's been here, but he doesn't find himself caring in the slightest. She's _funny_ , which he didn't expect, and _dark_ and he just can't help but be happy at that _._  There's something about the way she is on the outside that says _evil_ , but everything he's found from her makes him think that he's . . . that he's found someone he can finally relate to - someone he doesn't have to lie to. 

"Really?" he asks. He's already informed her that he's doesn't much care for making friends, but then again, he wouldn't put it past her to read him, as he'd not spared her the courtesy upon their first meeting. He decides to humor her. "What's his name?"

She smiles over the curve of her mug and gives him a quick, mischievous look. "Erik," she tells him, taking a sip. "His name is Erik."

He nods and thinks of roses, just in case she decides to take a look. "Maybe I'll meet him." And again, roses.

She snorts and takes a quick sip of her drink before setting it down. "For your sake, I hope not."

Charles raises an eyebrow. "Why not? Pietro sounds wonderful, and I'm sure Erik isn't as bad as you think."

"Your optimism is refreshing, Charles. Most people only assume the worst about him." she gives him a warm smile and reaches to pat his thigh. "However, I would suggest that you . . . maybe . . . steer clear of him."

Charles raised an eyebrow and purses his lips. "Are you trying to alienate your brother?" he asks, more genuinely than he had intended. "I don't know much about siblings, Wanda, but I can tell you that that is not the appropriate way to channel your resentment."

She smirks and leans back against her chair, lowering her cup to her lap. "We're family." she states simply. "I would never do such a thing."

Charles gives her a deadpan look.

She straightens up and sniffs. "It's a love-hate relationship." she corrects. "But he does have his own little . . . crew of friends. I would suggest staying away from them as well. You'll notice them soon enough." she sighs. "I love my brother, Charles, I really do. I can't ignore the fact that he and his little friends are nothing but trouble." she nods solemnly. "Your uncle-"

"Godfather." Charles corrects her, short and automatic. "Tony is my godfather."

"Right," she amends with another knowing smirk. "Your _godfather_ speaks very highly of you. Says you're a genius." 

"I wouldn't say-"

She raises a hand, and it seems, Charles discovers, that he no longer has access to his vocal chords. He moves a hand to rub his throat, and throws a curious, almost fearful look at Wanda. "Yes," she says. "I can do that too." But then she gives him this grave, almost dark look. "Listen, Charles, you've got a good thing going for you. Tony is . . . He's a nice enough man." she smiles. "You have people who care, Charles, which is more that I can say for most of the children in here. Don't ruin that."

Charles adopts a grave look and nods. 

She smiles and lowers her hand. 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony comes to get him after about two hours. He spouts quick and meaningless apologies about the meeting taking longer than he had expected, and Charles fakes a smile and accepts them gracefully even though he knows he doesn't have to. 

"You all set to go?" Tony asks, offering a Charles tiny smile but keeping his eyes obstinately fixed on Wanda. He doesn't look wary, per say, but he's a coiled spring in the infirmary and they all knew it: peaceful looking without the context, but underneath, there was a radical potential energy just _waiting_ to be let loose. There was a strong tension between Wanda and Tony, and as much as he wanted to, Charles did not meddle. 

He nods at Tony, rising from the bed and looking back at Wanda. "I hope I don't have to see you anytime soon." he tells her, and they share a smile. 

He can feel a vague imprint of Tony's discomfort, and he doesn't know if that's because it's so strong, or because Charles is about as thoroughly read in The Mannerisms of Tony Stark as a person can be. 

He _does_ decide that he doesn't care regardless. 

Tony mutters a quick _Thank You_ and _Goodbye_ before he ushers Charles out of the room by the shoulders before anything else can be said. 

"Goddamn witches," Tony whispers to himself when they are outside, crossing the quad. 

 _Stay out of trouble,_ Charles hears at the back of his head.

He figured Wanda'd be persistent about something. 

Maybe he wasn't the best at 'suppressing mischievousness', but damn it all to hell if he wasn't going to try.   

He smiles. _Promise.  
_

He doesn't know if she can tell he's crossed his fingers before she leaves his head. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe a hell of a lot of credit to Merula_Aeolus for helping me get my characters in check and giving me a whole bunch of wonderful ideas! Couldn't have done the rest of this without. Also, I have to give credit to putthepromptsonpaper and writeworld on Tumblr for some prompts that I use here, and in future chapters.
> 
> Also, I think I'm going to do the next chapter from Erik's perspective. Let me know in the comments if you think that that is the worst idea of all time. 
> 
> Hope you liked it!


	5. Let It Happen Naturally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik doesn't know how he knows — he just does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't push it  
> Don't force it
> 
> Let it happen naturally
> 
> It will surely happen  
> If it was meant to be
> 
> Don't push it  
> Don't force it
> 
> Let it happen naturally
> 
> \- Don't Push It - Leon Haywood

Erik doesn't know _how_ he knows  **—** he just _does_. In retrospect, anybody could've figured it out, but, of course, 'anybody' didn't care. Erik really didn't either (how much of a sacrifice was six weeks, really?), but the mere thought of someone in his space simply . . . unsettled him. Could he be blamed? Nine years living on his own in the dorm: he'd become accustomed to being on his own.

The room was _his_ space. The _one thing_ Shaw had ever really given him that was **good** and **real**. Granted, Erik had never really gotten attached to the _place_ (because he was more than certain Shaw could and would take it from him at any second) but more the idea. He got this corner of the world, and that was all he needed. He could cook for himself, keep his place clean and updated, and he didn't have to worry about the chattering and buzzing of someone he didn't know — or didn't _want_ to know.

But yeah, six weeks.

He could do six weeks. 

He was surprised about how frightened Fury seemed of him when he was called in. Granted, he had never shown Fury any reason to believe he had anything less than a slight grapple of self-control, nor any reason why he should be trusted to take this particular news well. Still, though, he had never really minded Fury. He figured, that with Sebastian _fucking_ Shaw as your boss, you could only do your job so well until you were cut down. Despite that, the worst thing he could say about Nicholas Fury was the man was a bit oblivious. 

_"And what does Dean Shaw have to say about this?"  Erik had inquired, ever so patiently after being informed that he would share his room._

_Fury had raised his eyebrow. "Dean Shaw suggested it, actually." Fury explained, leaning back in his chair and capping a pen he had been using. "He thinks **—** The _staff _thinks that you ought to have a roommate, after all these years."_

_"Is this one of Wilson's diagnoses?"_

_Fury remained silent._

Wilson had been trying to get him a roommate for years.

It was standard for every student in the school to have a psyche evaluation with Wilson once they were admitted — _accepted_ , Erik corrected himself — here. If they proved that they would integrate themselves in with no problem  **—** if they had no PTSD, no anxiety, no other sort of 'Tendencies', as Erik had taken to calling them  **—** then they they didn't have to go to anymore sessions. If they had a Tendency, they would have to go to a regular appointment. 

Needless to say, Dr. Wilson (or Dr. Birdbrain, as Erik had affectionately taken to calling him) was a very busy man. 

The man thought Erik was 'socially handicapped' or something, and since he had arrived, Wilson had been trying to get him a roomie; since he had arrived, Erik detested it. 

It was legendary: the impasse of Dr. Birdbrain and Erik Lehnsherr. The staff — which was basically split right down the middle on the subject — tried very hard to change the opinion of both parties, approaching them every other year or so to show them the error of their ways. (Stark, Romanoff, Barnes, and Barton came to Erik's defense, but Odinson, Banner and Rogers helped, if not created, the notion that Erik was too much a defective to be left alone  **—** or at least, that's how he saw it.)

Aside from casually mentioning it in passing, none of the teachers ever said anything to him about it. He was grateful for it, in some sick way, but he knew it had nothing to do with him: It was the first time, probably, that Rogers and Barnes disagreed about _anything_. Sometimes, he had heard, they were caught bickering under their breaths when they didn't know or forgot someone else was there with them, but otherwise, they were very much publicly united. Also, Erik was sure none of the teachers one Wilson's side had a death wish, so they didn't _ever_ try to argue with Romanoff or Barton when they were within fifty feet of each other  **—** which was _all the time_ , apparently. 

No, the staff keeping quiet about the feud had nothing to do with privacy or respect. Erik knew that if he wasn't a student, Stark would've made T-shirts by now that said 'Team Lehnsherr' or 'Team Wilson', and he would've been been wearing them on a regular basis. 

None of the students ever really mentioned his lack of roommate out-right either, which he was glad for. It was nobody's business, and if it were ever to be addressed, there were sure to be questions (which wouldn't be answered) and, consequently, _rumors_ , which Erik liked about as much as Shaw. 

 _Six weeks_ , he reminded himself, taking a deep breath and removing the last of the seven deadbolts from his door. 

Erik could do six weeks. 

 

* * *

 

Charles didn't exactly care that he would be roomed with someone right off the bat. Anything would do, really, so long as he didn't have to sleep in a cupboard or something. It wasn't that he cared that he would be roomed, but more so that he cared _who_ had been roomed with. 

" _Erik Lehnsherr_?" Charles asked, looking up from the packet he had been handed and slowly removing his glasses. He'd already memorized his time-table, and he didn't very much care for the welcoming letter from the Dean. His test scores _had_ peaked his interest, but other than that, the only thing worth keeping was his appointment card from Dr. Wilson, and a nice  _Have a good day_ written at the bottom of it. 

Tony nodded, his face slightly pensive, but otherwise relaxed. "It's not a problem, right? I know I promised you a private, but this was what we had available. The kid's harmless, I swear." _He's something out of Bronte novel, but yeah . . . Harmless._

Charles must have forgotten to answer, because Tony stopped him short with a hand on his shoulder and a serious look on his face and asked, "It _is_ alright, right? I mean, it's not too soon after **—** "

 _Oh shit. Jesus tap-dancing Christ, I haven't been alone with him for twenty-four hours yet and I already fucked up. Should've_ insisted _. Oh god **—**_

"No," Charles shook his head quickly, as if clearing a mental fog. "No, it's perfect. It's _fine_ **—** "

 _Is he gonna cry? Fuck._ "Cause, ah, you know . . . You can tell me if you feel **—** "

" _Tony_ ," Charles insisted, taking in a deep breath. Either Tony needed to calm down or he needed to stop thinking so loudly, because yes, Charles was powerful enough to cancel out four Telepathy-blocking towers, but he still had problems with tuning in and out. "I _promise_ you that I really _don't care_ ; I'm sure he's a wonderful boy." Tony calmed down considerably and Charles sighed quietly in relief. "I just recognized the name, that's all." he lied smoothly, and then they kept walking. 

As they walked away from the main building, Charles could feel questions buzzing at the back of Tony's mind, but he elected to ignore it in exchange for studying his surroundings.

There were three buildings surrounding the quad, so the entirety of the property looked like a largely spaced square. The school building itself allegedly held all the classrooms every grade would need, a gym, a library, a greenhouse, the infirmary, and an actual, proper lab (which thankfully he only heard about and didn't have to see) and other things that made it look more like an amusement park, rather than a school. 

"Those dorms over there," Tony pointed out when they were at the center of the field. It was a large building with a white 'F' hung above the white door. "are the girls' dorms." They continued walking after a moment and then stopped again only a few yards further. "Personally, I think that the dorms should just be co-ed, but it's a state-safety thing." Tony explained, almost in an afterthought. "Most people intermix anyways: sleepovers, the seniors who think they've found the love of their life, things like that. Curfew's at nine thirty, but even then . . ." he trailed off, waving his hand suggestively. "Teachers don't care, _really_ , as long as you're not too much of a trouble-maker. Startlingly, we've only gotten one teen pregnancy thus far."

Charles cocked an eyebrow, and Tony just shrugged and said, "You pick your battles. Nearly gave Coulson a heart-attack, but we make-do."

"Coulson?" Charles asked. He'd been given a list of the teachers' names, but he hadn't seen a Coulson. "Who's that?"

Tony smirked. "Who isn't he?" Tony said, _something_ in his eyes. "He's one of the good guys," he explained. "One of ours _on the inside_. Officially, he's, like, a proctor."

Charles cocked an eyebrow. "And unofficially?"

Tony pursed his lips in disgusted before schooling his features. "The state sends him every so often to check-up on us **—** make sure we're using our 'gifts' from the government the way we're supposed to."

Charles didn't need to be a Telepath to understand Tony's resentment. "Make sure you don't start an uprising with broken, vagabond mutant children?"

Tony scoffed. "Worst kept secret in the school. But, Coulson's cool," Tony continued. "Most people like him. He's like that dorky uncle that always brings odd souvenirs. Just wait until Christmas; he _loves_ spoiling newbies." And then Tony got that mischievous glint back in his eye and everything slotted back into place. 

 

* * *

 

The only thing that Erik can think when he meets the other boy is  _Blue._

It's funny, because the other boy is wearing an over-sized _brown_ sweater, and wearing thick-rimmed _black_ glasses, and has creamy, porcelain _white_ skin, and Erik is sitting quite a few feet away, having opened the door with his powers, but the first thing Erik can even muster as a coherent, English thought: _Blue_. 

"Charles," Stark puts his hand on the other boy's — _Charles'_  — shoulder, and flashes a smile at Erik. "This is Erik. Erik, this is my godson Charles."

And when Erik can gather more thoughts and screw his mouth closed in its normal frowning position, he notices that the other boy has _blue_ eyes. 

A quiet moment passes where Erik and Charles are just staring at each other, somewhat calmly, like they're waiting. _Calm before the storm_ , Erik thinks sardonically, but before he knows it, Charles is rushing into his apartment — not before leaving his shoes at the door — and holding his arm down and hand open for Erik to shake in his cross-legged position on the floor. 

"Charles Xavier," he says, smooth like velvet and with a lopsided grin on his face. "Pleasure to meet you." And then he purses his  _Red_ lips, and frowns. "Sorry for the inconvenience."

And Erik doesn't know what to . . . "There is none," he says as he takes the hand, a slight smirk on his face. "Erik Lehnsherr. Nice to meet you."

Erik doesn't know what this is.

He has felt raging storms rumble beneath his fingertips and the construction of skyscrapers — metal beam by gleaming, metal beam — and on a wonderful, silent, breath-taking day, Erik can feel the goddamn _Earth_ move, along with all Her continents and skyscrapers and lightning storms. When Erik says that he doesn't know what this feeling is — this electric, ethereal, immortal _feeling —_ it's because he's never felt it before, and never in his life has he felt such a cocktail of fear and wonder. 

Erik can register that the boy is attractive, because he is a person with eyes. He knows it's more than that, however, because he feels like he's holding a firework in his hand that's twenty times more powerful than any earthquake. (And Erik has felt an earthquake course through his bones, and only now does he think he knows the meaning of _Earth-shattering._ )

Stark coughs and Charles and Erik drop each other's hands.

"So," Stark says, letting out a deep breath. He walks into the apartment — _without_ removing his shoes, Erik notes — but stays on the other side of the sofa. "This has been . . . _fun_. Charlie?" Stark asks, and Charles finally pulls his eyes away from Erik, still smiling. "Will you be alright here for a bit? Get to know Erik maybe, or walk around the campus. I'll be back to bring you to dinner, alright?"

Charles nods, beginning to walk over to Stark as Stark looks at Erik. "Can I trust you to . . . look after him?"

Charles stops short, mid-way between where he had been and Stark, and crosses his arms. " _I_ can look after _myself_ , Tony." And, apparently, when he sees Stark still stubbornly fixing a semi-glare on Erik, he throws a look at Erik over his shoulder and mumbles, "I _can_."

And Erik knows this is it. This was the moment he had been brooding over for the last two weeks. Could he live with this new boy for the next six weeks? Could he be trusted to have him close and  _in his space_ and keep him in one piece? Be trusted to show him the ropes and make him friends and not slit his throat in his sleep? 

 _Well_ , Erik thought. _I guess we'll see_.

And he nods. 

 

* * *

 

The only thing that Charles can think when he sees the other boy is  _Grey._

It's bitter, Charles thinks, because the other boy — it takes him less than a second after the door is open to discover the boy's name is Erik — has sun-kissed skin and seems kind enough, but Charles has already accepted the Science of Auras and suspects there's something less than _innocent_ about the boy in front of him than his peaceful position suggests. 

 _Maybe Wanda was right,_ he thinks. 

But not with  _Grey,_ Charles thinks, something in his stomach twisting and bile rising to the back of his throat. Since he met The Others, there has been no one else with _Grey_ so prominent in their person. Muted People, sure, but never a flat-out  _Grey._

Tony is talking, but he just continues to stare at Erik. 

And then Charles is moving.

And then Charles is _talking_. 

And the Charles is _touching Erik_. 

 _Charles is touching Erik_ , and he doesn't know how or what he's feeling about it. 

Charles has felt the mind of kings and presidents. He has seen the darkest memories of mobsters and men who rule underground nations. He's seen the inner-workings behind cold-blooded killers, and the men who create them. He's got to experience the mind of a newborn child — which was more simplistic and instinctual than he'd hoped — and the solitary resemblance of thought in a blue whale. 

But _this_  . . . Whatever it is he's feeling with his hand in Erik's . . .  _Well it's quite peculiar,_ he thinks to himself, unable to find anything else. And before he can really try, there are more words being said — _by him_ too, which is surprising — and suddenly, he can feel something like _Goodbye_ pressing at the back of his skull and  _Uncertainty._

Before he can think properly, Tony is gone, the door is closed, his suitcase is in his hand, and he can feel his embarrassment and Erik's amusement, which he quickly pushes out of his mind.

He may have joked with Wanda, but to his defense, he entered her mind when he was still unconscious. And, even when she knew he was a Telepath, she didn't do much to block him out, other than to guard her more . . . _private_ memories, which Charles duly respected and stayed away from. 

He may not have had many morals, but privacy was one. 

_Meddling Telepaths are the reason we need this research. Sit still._

He grimaced and swallowed before turning back to Erik, who was now standing. 

"I really _can_ look after myself." he said, which wasn't how he really wanted his first conversation with the other boy to go, but he knew that Erik was already more than dismayed at the prospect of being roomed with someone — someone new or someone at all, Charles didn't know — and he didn't want to make it worse by making himself a complete burden. "You really needn't worry." he looked around the small, but accommodating apartment. 

The living room was connected to the kitchen/dining room by a gold-colored metal rim that had obviously been adjusted more than a few times. The carpet was grey, and it stretched into a small hallway that Charles could only see half of before the other half disappeared behind a tight corner. The tile was white and silver, the cupboards and drawers were black, the counter-tops were black, and the fridge was a startling white. 

Charles could only describe it as _edgy_ , but not in a good way.

His apartment at Tony's had been _edgy_ too, but not this kind, what with his wall-that-was-a-window and plush white living room rug and hard black wood floors. There was something about his apartment at Tony's that just said  _Home,_ whereas this place felt more like a carpeted cage with throw pillows and a refrigerator _._

Charles knew what it was like to be a confined test subject. 

This didn't feel all that different. 

 

* * *

 

Erik didn't quite know what to feel about Charles, but then again, he didn't seem to want to give Erik much to work with. 

As soon as Erik had shown Charles his room — just down the hall from his own — and given him a tour of the small apartment, the other boy had retreated to his room with a small smile and 'Thank you' and stayed there. Aside from a small thump from the room every few minutes or so, there was no real sign anyone occupied the room: no obnoxious music, no curse of pain — nothing. Erik didn't know whether to be grateful or annoyed at this, but he knew it did get under his skin. 

Mostly, Erik wanted to know what Charles' power was. 

He felt a semblance of shame at the curiosity, but in the end, he roughly justified it to: He wanted to know who he was going to be living with (and he didn't want to stay in front of Charles' door for the next six weeks to find out.)

This was a question usually answered when one was assigned a roommate so that you didn't get someone with a . . . undesirable mutation, according to your tastes.

Or, for example, so you didn't end up in Raven's situation. 

When Raven had been assigned a room with Emma Frost, half the kids in their year had flooded the room ( _specifically her side of the room_ ) with their condolences. Angel had made it her top priority to have Raven's funeral arranged by the end of the week, and even though he was more friends with Emma than any of them at the time (which was saying something), Angel put Erik down to speak.

This seemed strange to a then kind, innocent Raven Darkholme. 

It took her about a week to figure it out. 

See, Emma Frost was a Telepath. Her abilities not being the only thing that made her special, she was a self-proclaimed Bitch Since Birth. Rumors had spread about her from the time that she arrived, much like they had with Erik. Even though they got on the only way people like them do — exchanges of barb words, Chinese take-out, and a few, notorious drunken escapades — Erik was responsible for a fair share of favorites (and secretly believed) rumors about Emma, one of which (and his own, personal favorite) was that she came out of the womb filing her nails and bored. 

But yeah, Emma Frost was a bitch, and the first day she met Raven (aka the first day she knew she was getting a roommate), she tore Raven to shreds. Granted, Erik didn't (and still doesn't) _exactly_ know what Emma did to Raven said, but he can guess that it was something nasty. 

Raven had simply walked in, said hello, and Emma raised an eyebrow.

Seconds later, Raven was in tears. 

Then again, Erik thought . . . He could have a roommate like **Raven**.

Little, blonde, shape-shifting Raven Darkholme stopped crying just as soon as she'd started and rounded on Emma. To this day, Erik is sworn to secrecy (he assumes Emma didn't let him leave with an absolutely 'correct' version of what happened), but he does remember that Raven was quite good at dishing out all that she'd received. 

Those girls, these days, were the best of friends. Actually, he thought that—

He feels something brush against his foot:

 

_Are you going to stand out there all day?_

 

Erik thinks he hears his own jaw unhinge and brain internally combust. He doesn't . . . Didn't . . . _Can't_ . . .

A small, silver pencil slides underneath the door.

Charles has immaculate handwriting. Not quite cursive, but decidedly not print. Not delicate or wispy, but not imposing or accusing. 

Erik considers this: The question he _should_ be considering, of course: How in the holy land of _fuck_ did Charles know he was out here?

Instead, after a minute or so and getting grip the size of a fishing net, Erik picks up the paper and pencil.

 

~~_Are you going to stand out there all day?_ ~~

_Are you going to brood all day?_

 

He sends it through with, what he considers, appropriate force. _Ha!_ he thinks. _Let that show him._  

This one takes a moment, and then he feels it against his foot. When he sees more text than expected, he sits down.

 

~~_Are you going to stand out there all day?_ ~~

~~_Are you going to brood all day?_ ~~

_I've been in here for fifteen minutes, but sure, I'm your regular Edward Rochester. (You still didn't answer my question.)_

Honesty, he decides, and he doesn't know where it comes from:

 

~~_Are you going to stand out there all day?_ ~~

~~_Are you going to brood all day?_ ~~

_~~I've been in here for fifteen minutes, but sure, I'm your regular Edward Rochester. (You still didn't answer my question.)~~ _

_I'm curious . . ._

 

This takes him longer than he'd like to admit to slide it under, and he feels just as insecure sending it as he did writing.  _In for a penny,_ he determines, as he watches Charles' shadow move beneath the door and the note disappear.

He blames the lack of eraser. 

The response is damn near immediate, and Erik wonders, with Charles' handwriting, how that could be possible:

 

~~_Are you going to stand out there all day?_ ~~

~~_Are you going to brood all day?_ ~~

_~~I've been in here for fifteen minutes, but sure, I'm your regular Edward Rochester. (You still didn't answer my question.)~~ _

~~_I'm curious . . ._ ~~

_About the anatomy of my door??_

 

Cheeky.

It takes Erik a second to realize that he's sitting, eye level with the door handle, and that he's smirking. 

 

~~_Are you going to stand out there all day?_ ~~

~~_Are you going to brood all day?_ ~~

_~~I've been in here for fifteen minutes, but sure, I'm your regular Edward Rochester. (You still didn't answer my question.)~~ _

~~_I'm curious . . ._ ~~

~~_About the anatomy of my door??_ ~~

_Seeing as you have foiled my plans for the time being, I suppose I should ask you something less obvious._

 

He feels confident, and can feel himself practically  _vibrating_. (And so are the spoons in the kitchen.) 

Charles' response takes a minute, despite it's briefness, and that has Erik both realizing that his smile is probably frightening, but also that he doesn't care.

He does so love to win.

 

~~_Are you going to stand out there all day?_ ~~

~~_Are you going to brood all day?_ ~~

_~~I've been in here for fifteen minutes, but sure, I'm your regular Edward Rochester. (You still didn't answer my question.)~~ _

~~_I'm curious . . ._ ~~

~~_About the anatomy of my door??_ ~~

_~~Seeing as you have foiled my plans for the time being, I suppose I should ask you something less obvious.~~  _

_Should I be frightened?_

 

And again, it's that tentative yield he sees in the vowels that's got him  _glowing._ His jaw hurts from it's sudden and constant distortion, but he quickly comes to the conclusion that he really couldn't care less. 

He stares at the writing, and thinks. 

_Six weeks . . ._

_Stark's godson . . ._

_Can he be trusted . . ._

He pulls a tight breath and then stands. He looks at the partially deformed door handle that had taken years of Erik's abuse, and simply . . . _corrects_  it.

Just like that, no resistance.

And then he chuckles, and stuffs the paper in his pocket, walking down the small hallway.

 _Infinitely,_ he thinks, the tip of his finger brushing against the note.  _Infinitely and without restraint._

He even though he really, _really_ doesn't, he hopes Charles can hear him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So . . . What did you guys think of the story from Erik's point of view? There's no rhyme or reasons to the POV changes. I just move it around when it fits me. However, if you all like this best, please let me know and I'll try and incorporate more into it. 
> 
> Please also note some of the detail inconsistencies. Hint: They aren't mistakes. (Tense Mistake Warnings)
> 
> Also, please let me know of any R&B songs you might like to see used. It's not so much that I don't have enough in my arsenal, but more that I think having your opinions would allow me to see what you want (aside from Cherik fluff which is always a good thing.)
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with it! Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kind of crap at intros. and exposition and all that, but I tried my best here. I would love it if you could tell me what you thought or think or if you have any ideas because right now not much is really set in stone. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> \- Atlas


End file.
